


Theme and Variations

by engagemythrusters



Series: Six Pieces [4]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Fluff, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23309107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/engagemythrusters/pseuds/engagemythrusters
Summary: Skin-to-skin contact is one of the most vital parts of Jack’s culture.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Series: Six Pieces [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1697989
Comments: 10
Kudos: 137





	Theme and Variations

**Author's Note:**

> Related to: Rooftop Sonata in C Major, Fugue, and Cantabile.

Skin-to-skin contact is one of the most vital parts of Jack’s culture. Or so he thinks. Maybe some sociologists or anthropologists or whoever could prove him wrong. But he’s pretty sure that this simple contact is more important to anyone on Boeshane than any food or idiom or what-have-you. 

The twenty-first century (or Earth any time, ever) isn’t like Boeshane. Their culture isn’t based on holding hands, pressing together foreheads, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder at all times, crossing and tangling limbs laying down. The downside to this is evident; Jack can never get enough contact as he’s used to. He’s learned to get past it over the centuries. And he’s also learned that this kind of contact  is a thing—just only with those closest few that one kept dear to them. 

Which means that Jack can do this with  Ianto. “Can,” of course, being the key word. 

Jack is the obviously more tactile of the two of them. He’s skilled at this. Centuries of practice, plus the instinct written right into his genes, spliced into his DNA, right next to the need for that Boeshane sun. But Ianto, on the other hand, isn’t skilled at this. Ianto isn’t well-versed in physical affection. He’s awkward and clumsy at it. Not for lack of trying, no. Just... lack of practice. Lack of knowledge. Nobody’s shown him how to do this before, and he flounders as he tries to catch up with Jack. Jack honestly doesn’t mind that Ianto’s not fluent with touch. It means thatJack needs to give Ianto plenty of demonstration, which is perfectly fine with him.

Tonight’s demonstration session isn’t unexpected. Martha said the medications could leave Ianto anxious, tense, restless, or irritated for a few days. She hadn’t been wrong in the slightest. Jack had assumed things would get worse before they got better, but... this, Jack had not been expecting. 

Today, Ianto had snapped at Gwen to the point where Gwen had actually cried. Neither had been wrong or right, so Jack had taken on his role as leader and tried to smooth it over. Gwen was completely understanding about where Ianto was mentally, and wasn’t mad about it, really, but she’d still been shaken by it. Ianto hadn’t been able to calm himself down enough to apologise. Jack had decided that was it for the day and sent Gwen home to Rhys and taken Ianto to the flat himself. Nobody needed to die because of some stupid mistake made by jittery, upset people. 

After that, Jack had made a quick dinner (which Ianto had barely picked at, claiming more nausea), then it was right to bed, which is where they are now, working on relaxation.

Well, Jack’s working on it, anyway. Ianto is already asleep. He’d passed out somewhere halfway through Elgar’s Enigma Variations—an old recommendation of Toshiko’s. Jack can’t remember why they’d been talking about classical music, but she had said Elgar’s music was worthwhile. Jack had made sure only to keep in the gentler movements, but he’d been a little apprehensive about using it tonight, knowing Ianto’s history with classical music. He doesn’t want to trigger any impulses to smoke. Fortunately, Ianto had seemed to be alright with it. 

Jack rubs small circles on Ianto’s stomach. Oh, it’s nice and soft right there. No sharp edges. No boney protrusions. Just soft everywhere. Gentle. Smooth. Perfect. If Ianto was awake, Jack would bend down under the covers and give the warm skin a kiss, just to prove to Ianto how lovely his stomach is, but Ianto’s asleep, and Jack is rather content to merely keep on smoothing circles over the softness. 

Ianto snuffles in his sleep, a sign he’s about to move. Jack rolls away a bit to give him the space to adjust, and smiles to himself as Ianto gracelessly turns towards Jack. Ianto sighs out a huff of air in his sleep, then relaxes again. 

Jack won’t lie, he’s a little peeved he didn’t get more time with Ianto’s stomach, but he can work with this. Ianto’s hand is just barely poking out of the covers between them, fingers curled loosely in a slack grip. Jack brings his hand up, deliberating for a moment. He brushes a finger across all of Ianto’s, from the knuckle all the way along the curve to the tips. Then he repeats, over and over and over, trying to teach Ianto even in his sleep how to be touched and adored. 

It’s only after a bit that Jack’s eyes begin to focus on an entirely new part of Ianto. A space never really explored by Jack—that darling nose of Ianto’s. Jack has no idea what endears it to him so, but it’s something, maybe in the way it rounds or maybe in the way it makes him look so charming. Or maybe it’s just  Ianto’s. Jack is finding that’s more than enough, these days. 

Jack shifts himself closer to Ianto, removing his hand from Ianto’s. He’s delicate about this next move, _oh-so-delicate_ , because this is more precious to him than anything. He strokes his index finger down, just faintly tracing the centre, right up until the very end. Then he ties again, this time halfway down, mapping the nose in his brain and finding the right tempo, the right pacing for him to keep on going. One third of the nose is what he settles on, and he smooths his finger up and down, up and down the planes of Ianto’s nose, boring into Ianto’s head just how to be intimate. 

It hits him halfway through the movement of piece in the background as it swells that he  knows this one. He’s heard it before, even if he can’t remember how or why. But it moves something, deep in Jack’s chest, and that’s what causes his finger to slip, right over the tip of Ianto’s nose.

Ianto stirs, his nose scrunching up and away from Jack’s finger. His eyes crack open, just barely, squinting at Jack in the darkness.

Jack moves his hand yet again, this time to Ianto’s cheek, gently smoothing out the lines with his thumb.

“Shh,” Jack whispers, barely audible, “go back to sleep.”

Ianto’s eyes squint at Jack for a moment longer, then slowly ease closed, his face evening out millimetre by millimetre as he sinks back into sleep.

Jack inhales lightly, thankful for the return to serenity, then exhales as soundlessly as possible as he brings his face forward, pressing his forehead to Ianto’s. 

He lies like that for a while, thumb still tracing Ianto’s cheek bone as he revels in Ianto’s presence. Even when Ianto’s breaths are working their way to snores, he is still something to behold. 

The movement starts to swell in the background again, and Jack finds just the barest hints of wetness collecting around his eyes.

He tilts his chin up and presses the lightest kiss to the tip of Ianto’s nose, then down to kiss the hand still curled between them.

As the movement subsided, he relaxes back into his own pillow, moving his hand for one final time, letting it fall to rest over the top of Ianto’s.

Tomorrow, they can pick up where Jack left off. For now, he’s content to sleep, still connecting to the man he adores.

**Author's Note:**

> This celebrates one year of me writing fics! So instead of making this a concerto piece, like I’d planned, I’d turned it into Elgar’s “Nimrod” because that’s what inspired the my Time Loves You series. It didn’t inspire this one, obviously, but it is a gentle and soulful piece, which... I think fits this fic? Maybe? If the fic isn't to _meh_ for it.  
> Thank you for reading! Have a nice day!


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